


Till Death Slashminutes

by Barb G (troutkitty)



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-08-13
Updated: 1998-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:13:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The minutes that we weren't allowed to see when the episode Till Death aired</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till Death Slashminutes

**Author's Note:**

> My Methos muse came back unharmed! (no thanks to me, I guess) This is for Chris who told me to write this. Melissa beta'ed it, but all mistakes are mine.

MacLeod didn't look surprised to see him, but then he didn't look all that pleased that he was there either, so Methos ignored him. "Oooomm," he droned again. Not that he needed this substitute for sex anymore. MacLeod was back.

"You know you should do that up on deck, the view's better," MacLeod said, coming down the stairs.

Methos didn't open his eyes. "It calms the spirit, you should try it some time," he said. He resisted the temptation to crack one eye open. He wanted to present to MacLeod a body completely at peace with itself so that it didn't care if it got fucked or not. His way of playing hard-to-get.

"What are you doing here?"

Isn't it obvious? Methos wanted to ask, but decided that a stupid question deserved a stupid answer. "The place I've rent's been sold. I hate moving," he said. He liked the independence of his own place, and now he lost even that. Damn. He knew MacLeod couldn't handle him moving in full time. They would fight so much they wouldn't even have time to have sex, and that would be unthinkable.

"So move into a hotel."

"I wouldn't stay in any hotel Adam Pierson could afford," he snapped, and then allowed himself a secret smile. Well, maybe one of those all-men hotels they occasionally walked past, but then MacLeod probably wouldn't stop by all that much. Or maybe too much...he didn't know which one he feared the most.

"Well, it's your problem if you're seen here." MacLeod said. Methos stared at him for a moment. What, like it was only okay to come visit at night? You live in a barge, MacLeod, you don't have any neighbours. There's no one around to say anything. Methos thought, and then watched as MacLeod opened the letter.

"Anything interesting?" he asked, peering around.

"I'll let you know. Oh, Gina and Robert De Valicourt are getting married again," MacLeod said.

"I thought they were married," he remarked. MacLeod continued to ignore him, and Methos stopped waiting for it.

"Well, they're doing it every hundred years."

Methos exhaled in theatrical pain, and then frowned as he stretched his leg out. Even immortals got Charley horses. He grimaced, but MacLeod wasn't watching him. Ow, damn it. MacLeod was off opening a letter when he should be on his knees massaging it out. And then...other things on his knees. The insensitive bastard. He looked back to MacLeod and saw the dreamy look in his eyes. "Madly in love, huh?" he asked. As opposed to you...he didn't say it. He wanted to, but he didn't.

"Or gluttons for punishment," MacLeod said.

Just like us. Maybe MacLeod could read his mind. Methos smiled, and let a bomb drop. "I was married once, you know? Well, come to think of it, I've been married sixty seven, no sixty eight times," he said," standing up. His muscles threatened to snap for a moment and then let him be.

"You've had sixty eight wives?" MacLeod demanded, incredulously.

"Yeah, never one of us, that would be too much of a commitment for me to make. You'd have to love someone a hell of a lot to be with them three hundred years. Tough to imagine, huh?" he said, and then paused. He wondered if this was going to last that long, or if he'd have to give up and drown the Scot before taking his toothbrush and leaving. MacLeod wasn't the easiest man to live with, sleep with, or even feel affection for, but for a moment this was all he wanted.

"No, it's not. Not if you knew Gina. Fitzcairn and I were madly in love with her," MacLeod said, distantly.

Methos watched MacLeod continue to tap the invitation on his lip, and for the first time he felt wildly jealous. It was one thing to feel affection for an ex-flame with him in the room, it was another to stand there and reminisce. He let MacLeod daydream for a bit and then cut in. "Should I be making some comparison between myself and chopped liver right about now?" he asked, standing up and snatching the invitation from MacLeod's hand.

MacLeod tried to grab it back, but Methos was too quick. Methos turned around to go back to the sofa when Mac grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around again. "MacLeod," Methos said, letting some of the annoyance he felt into his voice.

MacLeod didn't answer, and it was really difficult to argue with a kiss. Methos put down the envelope and slipped his hands under Mac's sweater. Um...everything right where he left it. He kissed MacLeod's jawbone. "Methos, Methos--" MacLeod said, trying to catch his hands.

"Look, is this another one of those times where you tell me to stop, I don't listen and we have mind blowing sex anyway? Because I'm willing to just skip to the end if you are."

Methos had to give MacLeod credit for successfully ignoring Methos' hands now working their way into Mac's pants. Instead, Mac cupped his chin, lifting it up and away. MacLeod's lips worked down his throat, and for a second Methos felt teeth bite down gently. He felt the strength of the jaw over him, and it never hurt more than a tickle. Sometimes he wanted the slight pain, sometimes he didn't. MacLeod always seemed to know which one he wanted, and that was one of the main reasons he kept coming back.

He grunted with surprise as Mac grabbed him, threw him over the sofa and yanked down his sweats. "Mac, wait. Mac...hold on...uhn," Methos grunted again as Mac spat in his hand and used it to work his way inside him. But even the burn felt good. MacLeod's hand gripped him hard, bucking against him. It felt great to be truly fucked, body against body. Not that he had any objection to MacLeod's occasional attempts at romance, of course.

Methos lowered himself down to his elbows, gripped onto the edge of the cushions and smiled at the sound of MacLeod's breathing. Four hundred years of training and control exercises, and the Scot was panting like a dog over him. He spread his legs a little more and arched his back to make it easier. MacLeod grabbed him, holding him to his body, and then let him go.

"Move that tight ass on my cock, Methos," MacLeod whispered. Methos slowly lifted himself up as far as he could, and slammed himself back and trusted MacLeod to catch him. MacLeod grunted, and then slapped him hard on his butt. The pain went straight to his groin, and Methos felt his knees go weak. MacLeod held him when he started to tremble, he was that hard. "Again," MacLeod ordered.

"MacLeod, I can't," he said. At least, he didn't think he could. His body was too needy, too painful.

MacLeod slapped him on the same pace as the last time. Methos jerked forward, "See? I knew you could," MacLeod whispered in his ear.

"Bastard," Methos grumbled, but braced himself against the wall with his hands, and slowly began lowering himself up and down. His thigh muscles burned, but when he tried to go quickly MacLeod slipped out of him and slapped him again for his clumsiness. "Go slow," MacLeod grunted.

Methos grinned, and ignored the torture his own body was in. He went slowly. So slow that every quarter inch took at least three breaths to sink down on. He could hear MacLeod's breathing behind him, strangling. Methos grinned. It was killing him, too. Good.

MacLeod broke first. He grabbed Methos and spun him around. Methos lost his balance and fell heavy on his hands and knees. "Tease," MacLeod growled.

"Bully," Methos growled back.

After that neither of them said anything. Just...body on body, slapping each other. Methos turned his head, sucking in a breath. MacLeod nuzzled on his earlobe briefly, and then raked his teeth down it. Methos' entire body shuddered. He heard MacLeod whispering, and realized it was a prayer. It made him smile. MacLeod shouldn't be asking for divine intervention so early.

Methos' heart pounded in his throat, and he bit down viciously on his lip. They were so dry from his panting they tore and just before he came he could taste his own blood. MacLeod's nails dug into his hips, and that pushed him over. MacLeod rode his thrashing body, but then he groaned and his body went from tense to completely boneless.

MacLeod collapsed against him, pinning him down to the floor. Methos took the added weight patiently, and waited for more than what he thought was an acceptable time, and then coughed, subtly. "Ah-hem," he said, diplomatically.

"Christ, Methos," MacLeod whispered. He pushed away. "How could you do that to me?" he asked. His voice was thick with exhaustion.

"You had the active role this time," Methos said, climbing to his feet. He loved it when he couldn't quite close his muscles against the battering they'd taken. He felt MacLeod's come leaking out of him, and he pulled his jeans back on. MacLeod stood up more stiffly, and they both went to the shower. He washed MacLeod's hair tenderly, lifting up the wet strands and kissed MacLeod's ear. The shampoo cooled his palm, and he worked it in the strands of black. MacLeod moaned as the lather worked up, and Methos grabbed a handful of the suds and worked them over MacLeod's cock.

"Methos, there is nothing there," MacLeod said, but began moving against him, gently.

"Maybe," Methos said, agreeably, but kept his hand moving. He guided MacLeod back into the spray, but felt a movement against his hand. "Maybe not."

He rinsed MacLeod's hair. He squirted conditioner on his hand before working more into the strands, and the slickness seemed to work. By the time the conditioner rinsed out MacLeod was at least half hard. Methos dropped to his knees in the shower, and took MacLeod in his mouth. MacLeod came for him, groaning softly, but it was only a few drops. MacLeod rested his hand on his head for a second. Methos stood up and wrapped himself in MacLeod's robe. He could feel himself becoming almost jealous, and knew he had no call to be. He let MacLeod have Amanda rather than trying to compete, but it slightly hurt to see MacLeod so eager to jump to Gina's side when beckoned. He understood with his rational mind that it was just MacLeod being MacLeod, but Methos saw the distant look in Mac's eyes. This woman meant a lot to MacLeod, and the irrational part of Methos' brain didn't like it at all.

MacLeod dressed to go. Methos looked up from where he curled up on the couch and smiled. "MacLeod, come here," he said, snapping his fingers.

MacLeod was so shocked he took a step forward. Methos' hand went directly to Mac's groin.

"There is nothing there," MacLeod said, and even winced a little.

"Good, you may go," Methos said, going back to his text.

"I may...what, Methos?" MacLeod asked. His voice was cold.

"Did you think I was going to send you out to see your ex-girlfriend able to move?" Methos asked, innocently.

MacLeod stormed out.

 

MacLeod didn't know how he got himself into this. It wasn't enough that Robert begged him. It wasn't that Methos waited for him back at the barge--Methos had never asked him for any kind of commitment of exclusiveness. It wasn't even Amanda, who forgave him Methos as being something she couldn't compete against but who probably would pluck out Gina's eyes if she ever caught them together. Methos was right--he was a boyscout.

But a boyscout who knew where and how to shop to get a certain other slightly older immortal to help in this scheme. The clerk looked almost too young to be working in a shop like this one, but smiled at him with a very clear indication of preference.

"Well, hello," the clerk said, and looked at him through his eyelashes. He was a redhead, with very white skin and freckles over his nose and cheeks. Cute, but the two piercings through his nose did nothing for MacLeod. "Shopping for yourself or a friend?" he asked when MacLeod didn't say anything.

"A friend," Mac said, looking around. He was beginning to get embarrassed, but the other clients in the store were looking carefully at nothing with their heads down. At least he wasn't alone.

"I see," the clerk said, and then obviously saw how frazzled Mac was getting. He stopped his teasing immediately and became very professional. The boy straightened up, and rested his very long fingers on the glass counter. "Boyfriend or girlfriend?" he asked gently.

"Boy," MacLeod said, almost enjoying the irony in that one word.

"Hum..." the boy said, and then chewed his lips for a moment. He looked around at the merchandise behind the counter, and quickly dismissed the multitude of videos, dildos and vibrators.

MacLeod wasn't quite the innocent he had been--not with Amanda as a mate for so many years, but when it got down to some of the leather straps and paddles, he couldn't stop blushing. The boy noticed that, and quickly by-passed that section as well. "Here we go," the boy finally said. "Use these; these are my favourites. Do you need lubrication?" the boy asked.

The innocence of the question startled MacLeod. "Uh, no. We have lots back home," he said and paid for the purchase.

"Lucky friend," the boy said, almost longingly, and then smiled again. "He won't be able to say 'no'."

 

Methos woke up from the buzz as MacLeod approached, carrying a brown paper bag which Mac dropped carelessly by his feet. Methos didn't move from his sprawl. He yawned, stretching out as much as he could, and jolted as MacLeod's hands closed over his hips. "No," Methos said firmly, knowing MacLeod was planning something. He was old enough to know that, at least. MacLeod silenced him with a long, teasing kiss. His tongue moved slowly across Methos' teeth, and finally Methos parted his lips. He was feeling slightly horny. He always did in the barge; the place reeked of MacLeod's manliness. In any other situation that word was laughable, but somehow it fit. It was much more pleasant that the musk of a rutting goat, but had just about the same effect on him as goats did on Byron.

"Hush," MacLeod whispered, and kissed him again. "Scoot forward."

"Are you going to spank me if I don't?" Methos asked, not moving at all. He wasn't afraid, though. His butt was firmly covered and there was no way MacLeod could get to him. He smiled, enjoying the frustrated twitch to MacLeod's forehead.

"Methos, please. I'm sorry," Mac said. Methos knew MacLeod tried for convincing, but it didn't get past wheedling.

Methos pushed him away with his foot. "Are you sorry you spanked me today?" he demanded, feeling superior with MacLeod on his knees like a chastised servant. The power rush radiated from his stomach and reached his groin with thumping urgency, but he wouldn't skip this part for the world.

"Yes, Methos," MacLeod repeated dutifully, and looked up at him with those puppy eyes. He almost touched himself through his jeans. He took a shaky breath and heard it rattle around in his lungs. This had better be mind-blowing, considering the amount of foreplay going on.

"And you promise never to do it again unless I ask?" Methos asked, crossing his arms over his chest. This was getting good, but a small part of his brain was beginning to worry--a lot--over exactly what MacLeod wanted from him. It had to be something big not to choke on the huge piece of crow Mac was chewing on. He silenced that part of him quickly and lived for the moment. He still could refuse. This was bribery, not blackmail.

"Methos--" MacLeod began.

It went too far. Methos smiled and shifted forward on the couch and then sighed. "Have your evil way with me," he said with the strength of a martyr. Then he grinned. "Oh, please."

MacLeod moved to him, again in charge. "Close your eyes."

"Really, MacLeod. There's not much I haven't seen in the past--"

MacLeod covered Methos' mouth with his huge hand. The calluses rubbed against his skin, and Methos tried to protest, but MacLeod didn't listen. "Close. Your. Eyes," MacLeod said again.

Methos did so, more out of desperation. MacLeod now knelt between his knees, and as MacLeod leaned forward to cover Methos' mouth with his hand, the material of Methos' jeans pressed down hard on his erection. He moved his hips, trying to make friction, but MacLeod let go of his mouth and held his hips still.

MacLeod waited a moment before pulling off his jeans. Methos even helped by lifting up one foot at a time for MacLeod to pull off the socks. A moment later Mac tugged off his shirt, and he was completely naked. The barge was slightly cool, and he started to shiver.

"Spread your legs," MacLeod whispered.

They already were, but Methos parted them even more lewdly. It was going to be a simple fuck, but still his muscles trembled. He loved MacLeod's body working against his, forcing him to bend to the point where an ounce more pressure might snap his bones. His erection flopped against his belly as he heard the flick of the flip-top lid of the oil they used snap open. Methos groaned, as quietly as he could, but didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to ruin it.

Lavender. He breathed deeply, which was a good thing because a heartbeat later Mac's slick hand ran over his length and his lungs stopped working for a good moment.

"MacLeod, please," Methos whispered, but MacLeod pressed his finger against his lips. The paper bag Methos forgot about ripped open, and Methos' stomach muscles tensed. He wanted to call MacLeod's name; he wanted to see what MacLeod had, but he did neither. The anticipation was the best part.

But nothing touched him other than MacLeod's hand. Mac learned quickly. He brought Methos to the brink of letting his insides fall out, and then pulled back long enough for the desire to fade back into his body. It was maddening, but MacLeod knew how much Methos loved it. That final moment before coming made all the anxiety worth it.

"Ready?" MacLeod finally whispered. Methos nodded as enthusiastically as he could, not knowing if MacLeod wanted him to speak. He parted his lips, expecting the head of MacLeod's cock to press against him, but instead it was plastic and body temperature. He jumped, but didn't open his eyes.

"MacLeod, what are you doing? MacLeod!" Methos asked, voice harsh. MacLeod's hair tickled his inner thigh.

"Hush, Methos. Lay back and enjoy it," MacLeod whispered.

The first bead pushed inside him, and Methos' entire body shivered. MacLeod had to stop his hand working him over for a second. "Don't enjoy it that much, Methos, you still have four more to go," MacLeod whispered, and ran the flat of his tongue wetly over the underside of his testicles.

Methos gritted his teeth. The first ball stretched him open; the second one started to fill him up. More oil drizzled over him, warm and slippery, and helped the third ball slip inside. He couldn't help the tremble, and MacLeod couldn't touch him with either his fingers or tongue, one touch would send him over. He felt the sweat on his back, and his eyelashes became wet with tears. "MacLeod, please," he whispered. "Oh, god, please."

"You have two more. Breathe, Methos. Calm down and breathe," MacLeod whispered, and splayed his fingers over Methos' belly. Rather than helping, it definitely made it harder. His entire body hurt. MacLeod half sat on the couch, and kissed his cheek. Methos turned to MacLeod blindly, and they kissed, tongues battling in each other's mouths. Methos tasted MacLeod, sucked on his lips hungrily, but MacLeod's breathing calmed him down. Just matching MacLeod's breathing helped. MacLeod pressed his forehead against him and just waited for Methos to come down from the edge.

It finally didn't hurt to breathe. Methos nodded, and relaxed against the back of the couch. While he regulated his breathing, MacLeod pushed the last two balls inside him. Methos moved his hips, loving the way they rubbed against themselves inside him. MacLeod's body shifted down back between his knees again, and Methos desperately thrust his hips up for easier access. MacLeod's mouth accepted him, greedily swallowing him down the length. Methos' body went stiff, and he threw his head back. Just before he came down MacLeod's throat, MacLeod pulled the string out from him. The pleasure of his body being forced opened and closed couldn't keep him quiet. He cried out, bowing his back as much as he could. The orgasm seemed to last forever, and he didn't remember it ending.

He woke up slowly, still feeling the residual orgasm spread through his body and heard MacLeod puttering around the kitchen. It sounded like he was making coffee. If MacLeod wanted something, now was definitely the time to ask. Methos stretched his neck back, and enjoyed the cat stretch...when it hit him. MacLeod planned the whole thing. The indignation replaced the ache in his joints. He felt continued feeling used, only this time it wasn't pleasant. He opened his eyes to see MacLeod carrying a tea tray back to the sofa.

"Did you enjoy that?" MacLeod asked.

Methos didn't answer. He grabbed MacLeod's sweater and pulled him to him, kissing him lazily. MacLeod kissed him back, almost chastely, and then pulled away. "I take that as a 'yes'," he said.

"What do you want, MacLeod?" Methos asked. He stood up long enough to pull his jeans on, replace his sweater, and then fell back into a boneless sprawl. He didn't really have much energy for anything else.

"What makes you think I want something?" MacLeod asked. He was going for coy. It didn't work either. Methos crossed his arms.

"Spit it out, MacLeod," he said. He stretched out, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I need you to attack a friend of mine so his wife will get jealous," MacLeod said.

Methos blinked He knew the some kind of request was coming, but this still surprised him. "It's finally happened. You've lost your mind," Methos said, pointing out the blatantly obvious.

"Come on, Methos, you'll be doing them an incredible favor," MacLeod said.

Methos ignored the return on the puppy dog eyes. "Read my lips. N. O," he said, flatly. He might have been out long enough to serve refreshments, but it wasn't long enough to make him want a sword at the throat. MacLeod was insane. Plans like this never worked.

"Okay. You'd be doing me a favor. Milk?" MacLeod said, hurriedly.

Methos' eyes narrowed. The favour on the couch was only payback from this morning; it had nothing to do with the de Valicourts. "Oh, now that's not fair, you're making it personal now. You think that I'll feel guilty when I say no?"

"Sugar?"

Methos smiled, Yes, honey? He took one. "You're wasting your time. I haven't felt guilt since the 11th century. I don't even know these people!"

"Yeah, well that's why I'm asking you. All you have to do is act a little."

Act a little? Did MacLeod think that just because he passed out he'd take this? "Do I look like an actor?" he demanded.

"Well, you've been with the Watchers for years and no one's ever suspected you," MacLeod said, and then held out a plate of cookies. "Don't you want to see Gina and Robert live happily ever after?"

Methos blinked. Did MacLeod just...bat his eyelashes at him? Oh, my. This was serious. He began to doubt he could talk MacLeod out of this. He played his best ace--self-preservation. "Yeah. But I want to see me live happily ever after even more," he thumped his chest for emphasis.

"Oh, come on, Methos, they won't even know who you are. You'll just be this mysterious Immortal who's coming after Robert's head. Robert and Gina's marriage is in your hands."

Methos decided to spell it out. "You're not listening to me. I don't give a damn about their marriage."

"Well I do!"

"Is it really that important to you?" Methos asked, formulating a plan.

MacLeod grabbed his scabbard. "Yes, it's that--" MacLeod actually bopped him on the head with it. "Important to me."

Methos shook his head, and sat down, thinking hard. He was tired of always being MacLeod's guest. This might actually be worth it. "Okay. I do this for you...And you give me the barge."

MacLeod laughed. "Right, like you're serious."

Methos took offense. "Yeah, I'm serious. Hey, I need a place to live. That's the deal, take it or leave it."

"Fine. If that's what it takes."

"That's what it takes," Methos said. He dared MacLeod to argue.

MacLeod caved in...he usually did. "Fine."

"Good."

"Good."

"Right."

MacLeod suddenly got serious. "You'd better make it look good."

Methos grinned at MacLeod. Didn't he always? "Like you say, darling, I'm an *act-or*."

MacLeod didn't look all that convinced. "Oh, good."

 

The sword fight got his juices flowing. Maybe he shouldn't have stabbed quite so hard, but he lost control for a second. MacLeod chased him away, but didn't stop to answer his questions. Mac was supposed to give the whole thing away, but it obviously didn't happen.

He returned to the barge, absolutely furious.

Methos waited almost half an hour before MacLeod came back. He started pacing as MacLeod tried to find something to say to him to calm him down. There was nothing Methos knew that would work, and if MacLeod tried to touch him he'd cut off anything that attempted it. "I knew it! Getting between a married couple. It's a rule I haven't broken for 2,000 years. I knew this would happen," he growled.

"She'll cool off, I'm just telling you to be careful." MacLeod said.

Methos turned on him. He saw the way Gina looked at him; cooling off wasn't going to happen this century. "Great. So I lose my head after 5,000 years, so that you can play marriage guidance counselor. I must have been out of my mind!" he snarled. It wasn't just that MacLeod asked him to do this, but to know the way she responded to men threatening her lover and still send him out there--MacLeod had no right. None at all.

"Aw, Methos, the marriage is in two days time all you have to do is lay low for a while. They'll go off on their honeymoon, they'll be there for ten years, she'll forget all about this."

"Stake your life on that, would you?" he snapped. It was already obvious that MacLeod would stake Methos'.

"Yeah." MacLeod didn't sound all that convincing.

Methos had enough. He hadn't known when he negotiated how serious it was. "Okay. Give me the keys," he said, holding out his hand.

MacLeod stopped. "What keys?"

Methos couldn't believe MacLeod would forget. "The keys to the barge."

MacLeod laughed, but there was a nervousness to it. "You weren't serious. You were testing me."

Methos didn't think so. This went far beyond testing. "No, if I'm gonna die, you're going to pay me for it. Give me the keys."

MacLeod sounded shocked at the idea; considering all the things Methos introduced him to shock was a surprising response. "I can't give you the barge! I just re-decorated it!"

Methos decided it was time to use flattery. "Nice job. Give me the keys," he said, and shook his hand. MacLeod still wasn't passing them over. "Come on," he prompted.

MacLeod finally threw them to him. "With friends like you, who needs enemies," he snapped.

"I was just thinking the same thing," Methos said. He was guessing he wasn't getting laid tonight, but it was worth it.

MacLeod shook his head, and went to the desk to sit down. Methos was faster. "Hey hey hey hey, off," he said, lightly.

MacLeod sputtered. "What, this is my chair," he protested.

Methos brushed him aside. "My chair now," he said, sat down, and rested his feet on the desk.

MacLeod sputtered again. "You..."

Methos didn't let him finish. "You know where the door is," he drawled.

MacLeod grabbed some papers and stormed away.

Methos looked up, grinning. "Have a nice day!" he called, and then sat back.

MacLeod made it to the door before he stopped cold, came back, and sat on the edge of the desk. "If this is all a joke, Methos, you are taking it too far," MacLeod said.

Methos ignored him. It was fairly difficult, but he managed. MacLeod tilted his head back, and Methos didn't exactly fight it. MacLeod ran a finger over his lips, roughly, and Methos shuddered. He saw the grin on MacLeod's face, and decided to obliterate it.

"Making this personal got you in trouble the last time," he said around the finger.

MacLeod let him go and stormed out for real this time.

 

Methos was half way through his inventory when he got stuck on MacLeod's CD's. "Opera, Opera, Opera, Opera...Got a lot of Opera here. I'm going to have to do something about this music, there's no Springsteen, no Queen..." he muttered to himself when he felt MacLeod return. At least, he thought it was MacLeod, but when no one said anything, he began to worry.

Gina waited for him with her sword, and his was out of reach. Dammit.

"You," she snapped.

Methos tried to make it to his sword without it looking like he was going for his sword, "I can explain," he tried for a weak laugh, but it didn't work. "It was a joke."

"I'm not laughing," Gina said. She was right; she wasn't.

Methos glanced to where his sword was, between the two of them. He could try diving for it, but it left his neck rather...exposed. And he didn't like being exposed with naked swords in the room.

"Where's MacLeod? Did you kill him too?" she asked.

"No, no, no, he's fine," he said, soothingly. For now. If Methos survived this, that would change, of course. "This has all just been a big mistake."

"Huge. And you made it when you tried to kill my husband," she said.

"I knew this would happen," Methos muttered, and dove for his sword. Gina tried for his head, but he rolled out of the way and tangled up in her legs. They both fell, and Methos was lucky enough to land on top. He wrestled her for the sword, and pinned her wrist to the floor with both hands. "If I let you up is this going to continue?" he asked. He stretched out his foot, and barely made it to his sword.

"Only for a little while," she said, eyes still furious.

Methos sat on her for a moment, and then got up. "MacLeod didn't tell you about us, did he?" he asked, slowly backing away from her as she struggled to her feet. He deliberately turned his back and went to the liquor cabinet. He poured them both a glass of MacLeod's...his best wine and handed her one. She took it with her left hand, and watched him carefully.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Methos motioned around the barge. "I live here. MacLeod and I have an arrangement. But you know how bull-headed he gets. He gets an idea and there is absolutely no talking him out of it. Our friends got together and planned this out."

Gina stared at the bed. Methos followed her gaze and shrugged. "Yeah, well, you know. People change, positions don't," he said.

"And he...asked you to do this to me?" she demanded.

Methos delicately tapped his fingers against the glass. "Oh, yes. Would you like to get him back?"

 

Methos watched from his hiding place. Gina said her lines beautifully. MacLeod stepped just close enough for MacLeod to feel him and he poked his head up. "Oh, I don't know, pretty funny from here," he drawled.

And then had to back up quickly. MacLeod forced him back so he was sitting on the little hatch. "Maybe I ought to take your head," he growled. Methos cringed a little, not realizing how much he had pushed MacLeod. He looked really angry.

Gina noticed them. "What's the matter, MacLeod, can't you take a joke?" she asked, probably saving Methos' clothing if not his life. It would have been a cold swim around the barge.

"Fitz would have found it funny..." MacLeod still didn't look all that convinced. Methos sat up, suddenly wanting to kiss him, but MacLeod pulled away, grabbing Gina instead. If MacLeod was trying to make him jealous...it worked. It was Methos' turn to stand and fume as MacLeod dipped Gina in his arms.

"Go on, take her for God's sake," MacLeod finally said, and threw Gina at Robert. The four of them stared at each other, all wondering how exactly they could retreat quickly without being rude, but Methos was the most blunt.

"Good-night, you both," he said, and grabbed MacLeod by the arm. He closed the door behind them, and then turned to MacLeod. For a moment Methos just looked at him, and they studied each other trying to find a weakness or a chink, and then MacLeod simply took his head and kissed him, gently. For the first time in a long time it wasn't a power struggle. It wasn't...anything but an expression of affection. Methos wrapped his arms around MacLeod and brushed his cock with his hip.

They backed up, and Methos lost his balance on the last step. MacLeod pulled him forward rather than letting him fall, and he bounced off Mac's body. MacLeod held him close, not letting Methos rebound. Methos grunted as he landed. "Going somewhere?" MacLeod asked in his ear.

"No. It looks like I'm here already."

MacLeod kissed him again. Methos tried for the last step again, and this time made it. MacLeod laughed, still pressed against him, and they stumbled their way to the bed. Methos knelt down on it in front of him, but then Mac knelt down as well.

Methos touched MacLeod's chin with wonderment. "You're mine," he said. "All mine."

MacLeod touched his fingers. "As much as you are mine," he whispered. MacLeod kissed him again, and lowered him down to the pillows.

Methos didn't feel particularly like getting fucked. He held out his hand, and MacLeod interlocked their fingers. They stripped each other, throwing the articles of clothing around the room. Rather than asking Methos to turn over, MacLeod reached for the oil, and drizzled it over his upper thighs. Methos settled back down, throwing his arms up. MacLeod moved over him, keeping his weight on his elbows, and Mac carefully lowered himself down. Methos guided the cock between his clenched thighs, and felt MacLeod shudder. The initial motions from Mac were small and testing, but they settled down quickly.

"Um," MacLeod whispered. "Okay?" he asked.

Methos could feel the excess oil drip down and land on the sheets, but he didn't care. He gathered up some of the extra oil, and brought it to his own cock. "Lovely," he whispered, moving against him. "Please."

MacLeod began to move more quickly against him. Their hands slipped free, and MacLeod gripped onto his hips. Methos reached down MacLeod's back, raking his fingers against the tender skin. The man's shudder moved across his cock, and Methos groaned. Oh, that was perfect. MacLeod kissed him, and Methos hadn't realized his mouth was open.

The heat from MacLeod's body covered him, and Methos broke his mouth free from the kiss to lick his way down the salty skin of MacLeod's shoulder. There wasn't any urgency to the orgasm, it was just a gentle wave they both rode and then fell asleep in each other's arms.

The bliss lasted until the morning, when MacLeod spoke for the first time. "So...may I have my keys back?" he asked.

Methos rolled over, still half asleep. "Huh?" he asked, pulling the blankets over his shoulder.

"My keys," MacLeod's hair tickled the exposed skin on his neck. MacLeod's hands traveled up his flank. "Methos, please?" he asked.

"No. It's mine, just stop it," Methos said, irritably. He never had been a morning person. Unfortunately, he was still oily from the night before, and MacLeod had no problem slipping inside him.

"Come on, Methos, please," MacLeod whispered, slowly fucking him with his fingers. Methos lay still for a moment, and then pushed away from him.

"No," Methos said, getting out of bed.

MacLeod followed him to the bathroom. "Methos--"

"Enough!" Methos put his hands over his ears. "MacLeod, stop it!"

"But it's my barge."

"I'll sink it, MacLeod, I swear."

"You wouldn't dare," MacLeod said, warningly.

Methos stared at him, blankly. The battle would have continued, but there was a knock on the door. MacLeod dressed quickly, and went to answer it. Methos went to make the bed as MacLeod brought the crate in. The stains from the night before had ruined the sheets.

MacLeod unpacked the crated vase in the main room, and deliberately scattered the straw as far as he could. Methos ignored it as long as possible, but they were both getting on each other's nerves. "These sheets are disgusting!" he called, throwing them away. MacLeod ignored him. Methos tried again. "Hey! Enough with the mess; I have to live here."

"Oh, I'm sorry," MacLeod said. Not that he meant it. He took the vase out of the crate and held it up. "My wedding present to them. Only one of six left in the world."

"When I was living in China, way back when, those things were a dime a dozen. If only I'd known then what I know now," he said.

"Pity. So, what are you going to get them, a toaster?" MacLeod asked, snidely.

"I was thinking about something more unique," he said.

"Yeah? Like what?" MacLeod demanded.

Methos smiled, triumphantly. "My boat."

MacLeod sputtered. "The barge? You can't give them the barge!" he protested.

Methos blinked innocently. "Why not? It's my boat, and I do what I like with it," he said, dismissively.

"Fine," MacLeod snapped, but obviously was furious. The straw flew up and around. MacLeod was angry, but at least he accepted it. It was what Methos had waited for.

Methos smiled. "But then I figured that probably everyone would give them something unique, so I went with a toaster," he said, and then threw the barge keys to MacLeod. MacLeod's reflexes were too quick for him, and the vase crashed to the floor as he caught them.

MacLeod stared at the remains, unbelievingly, and Methos sauntered past him. "You keep the barge. I hate the water," he said, voice like silk. He'd better start looking for a new place to live and then not come around any time soon. "You've got a mess there, better clean it up," he said, and stopped long enough to throw MacLeod the broom.


End file.
